


Fire.

by ProlificPen



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate ending to Best of Both Worlds, Captain Riker, Locutus is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProlificPen/pseuds/ProlificPen
Summary: At the end of Season 3, Commander Riker gave the order to fire on the Borg Cube and Locutus, the assimilated version of his Captain. What if the order had worked?Will and Deanna discuss Will’s guilt in the aftermath of Wolf 359.





	Fire.

UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS  
Official Starfleet Transmission  
For Immediate Distribution to All Starfleet Bridge Officers

Stardate 43991.3

CLEARANCE LEVEL OMNI  
  
1\. SITUATION. ON STARDATE 43989.1, THE USS ENTERPRISE (NCC-1701D) ENCOUNTERED A BORG WARSHIP, OR CUBE. DUE TO PREVIOUS ENCOUNTER ON 42761.3 AND THE DESTRUCTION OF THE USS LALO, ENTERPRISE MOVED TO INTERCEPT BORG CUBE. IN COURSE OF ENGAGEMENT, BORG VESSEL SEVERELY DAMAGED ENTERPRISE, THEN BOARDED AND SEIZED HER CAPTAIN, JEAN LUC PICARD. ENTERPRISE IMMEDIATELY ENGAGED USING NEW TACTICAL PROCEDURES AND DESTROYED BORG CUBE AT COORDINATES BRAVO 761, HENCEFORTH TERMED “POINT XAVIER.”   
2\. DIRECTED SHIP MOVEMENTS.   
[. . .]  
2D. USS ENTERPRISE IS TO RETURN TO SECTOR 001 AND PRESENT TO SPACE STATION ALPHA FOR REPAIRS AND RESTAFFING.  
2E. ALL OTHER STARFLEET VESSELS ARE TO REMAIN AT WAR CONDITION DELTA AND REMAIN VIGILANT FOR FURTHER BORG INCURSIONS. IF BORG ARE SIGHTED, VESSELS ARE TO IMMEDIATELY NOTIFY STARFLEET, THEN MAINTAIN CONTACT WHILE AVOIDING BECOMING DECISIVELY ENGAGED.  
3\. PERSONNEL.   
3A. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, COMMANDER WILLIAM T. RIKER IS PROMOTED TO CAPTAIN, USS ENTERPRISE.  
3B. COMMANDER RIKER IS ALSO HEREBY AWARDED THE CHARLES TUCKER III MEDAL FOR HONOR AND VALOR. AWARD CEREMONY IS TO BE CONDUCTED ABOARD USS ENTERPRISE BY FLAG, TG 21 UPON OFFICER’S ARRIVAL AT SPACE STATION ALPHA.   
[. . .]  
ADMIRAL RICHARD K. BERMAN  
CINC-STARFLEET  
 _Ex Astris Scientia_

The spikes protruding from the back of the lionfish sway almost imperceptibly as he makes another circle in his tank, wholly oblivious to the inner turmoil of his observer. For the man sitting behind the desk, knuckles white from his overly firm grip on his PADD, the movement is at once hypnotic and comforting. The fish’s pattern, a result of centuries of evolution, is a reminder of the persistence and existence of life beyond the Ready Room, Starfleet, and even the Federation. And focusing on the pattern of endless circles gives him just enough of a distraction that he hasn’t thrown his PADD, the deliverer of the message he hadn’t wanted to read, at the glass of the aquarium.

So, Riker does all that he can do. He counts the circles.

Eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety…

He’s on rotation 108 (or is it 9?) when the door chime rings through the room. For the briefest of moments, he considers not acknowledging the door, but that idea is quickly discarded when he recalls that the interloper is likely one of two people and neither is likely to go away on her own. Shelby is far too stubborn, and Deanna… Well, Deanna knows him too well to be deterred by something as simple as him ignoring her.

Without averting his gaze from the fish, he calls, “Come in.”

The door opens and closes before the Counselor’s familiar voice calls out, “Will?”

His only response is to let out a heavy, uneven sigh. Even if she didn’t have the empathic powers that had resulted from her half-Betazoid genes, she knows him well enough that he doesn’t need to speak for her to know his feelings. Likewise, he knows her well enough to know that she is hovering nervously near one of the chairs in front of the desk of the Ready Room, unsure as to whether she should take a seat or approach him.

She doesn’t say any more, though. It's probably one of those counseling techniques she had learned at the academy, talk less and your patient will open up, he muses. For others, perhaps, it would be an effective technique, but he’s at a loss for anything to say. So he returns to counting circles.

To her credit, she doesn’t push, and finally, without taking his gaze away from the aquarium, he responds with the only thought he can put into words, “Does the computer feed him automatically?”

“What are you talking about?” The concern in her voice is evident, and he knows she is seriously considering calling Beverly in to determine whether he is mentally unfit.

He breaks his staring contest with the aquarium, a smile coming to his face of its own accord when he sees the look of confusion on her own. He gestures to the lionfish, which is still making its endless circles, and answers, “Livingston. I presume the computer replicates food for him?”

“You aren’t actually worried about the fish right now, are you?” She sinks gracefully into the chair she has been hovering over.

Maybe it's because her soft tone seems condescending at this very moment or because, empath or not, the suggestion that she knows what he’s feeling seems presumptuous, but regardless the reason, he slams the PADD onto the desk with enough force that he hears it crack and snaps, “Actually, it is, Deanna. I killed Captain Picard. Maybe I should try not to kill his fucking fish.”

“You didn’t—”

“Didn’t I?” Riker slams his hands on the arms of the chair, hoisting himself to a standing position, “I let him be captured. I didn’t go on that away mission. I was the one who gave the order. I told Worf to fire on the Borg Cube. I reduced my Captain to nothing but a bunch of fucking space debris.”

He pauses, exhaling an unsteady breath and placing his right palm flat against the wall near the fish tank for support. His left hand clenches and releases a fist in indecision before finally reaching up to press firmly into his eyelids, seeking to stem the moisture that is threatening to pool in the eyes behind them.

“And now, they want to give me a medal!” He gestures toward his desk and the cracked PADD sitting on top of it, “I don’t deserve the Trip Tucker Medal of Honor. I don’t deserve a promotion. I don’t…”

"You don't what?” Deanna’s voice is soft and understanding, but it isn’t her practiced counselor’s tone. It feels much more intimate than that, and he appreciates it. The concern that tints her voice is a little more genuine because of it.

“I don’t want any of it,” He admits softly, just loud enough so that she can hear it. He swallows the lump in his throat, “It should have been me.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” She chides him firmly, but there is no hint of surprise at his admission. He supposes her empathic abilities likely allowed her enough insight into his feelings that she knew exactly what he would say, “It’s not your fault."

He shakes his head, snapping back more harshly than intended, “It is my duty as First Officer to safeguard the lives on this ship. That includes her Captain.”

“Will!” She snaps back, “You did what you needed to do to safeguard the lives of every single person on this ship. You saved the Enterprise. You saved the Federation.”

"I _killed_ Captain Picard.”

“No, Captain Picard was gone long before you gave that order,” Deanna contradicts, a little more softly, “You did what you needed to do to save every person on this ship. There was nothing you could have done for the Captain.”

She is right, of course. He knows that. But it doesn’t really quell the ache that has been present in his chest since he first saw the Captain’s face, distorted by Borg technology, on the view screen.

He shakes his head, walking slowly over to perch on the edge of the Ready Room desk in front of her, and sighs, finally allowing himself to say the words he has been terrified to acknowledge, “He was my friend, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without him.”

“Oh, Will, he was my friend, too.”

He isn’t entirely sure who moves first, whether she steps forward for the embrace because he opens his arms or vice versa. But before he knows what is happening, Deanna’s arms are wrapped around his waist and her face is buried in his chest while his arms wrap securely around her. He can feel her tears through the fabric of his uniform, and he squeezes just a little tighter.

“Is this how you handle all of your counseling?” He wonders after several long minutes of silence.

She lets out a low laugh, tilting her head to look up at him with a soft smile, “Sure. You’d be surprised how far a hug goes with Geordi, or Worf.”

He returns her laugh, shaking his head in slight amusement before admitting seriously, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You know how to command a ship.”

“Not like this. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, and I’m getting awards and a promotion out of it.” He shakes his head, slackening his grip around her, and she steps back slightly before he finishes, “If Captain Picard were here, he’d have the perfect advice for this situation, and you know, I’d really like to hear it right now.”

“You have an entire ship full of crew members who are looking to you right now. They need you to be their Captain.”

“It’s not that easy. This isn’t my ship.”

“You didn’t go to Starfleet Academy because it was easy,” Deanna counters, “You once told me that you were going to be the youngest Captain in Starfleet history. You’ve always wanted your own ship. Well, here it is.”

He sighs, “Not like this.”

“Well, you don’t always get to choose how things are going to unfold,” She reminds him, “It’s not going to be easy, and there is a part of you that will always miss Captain Picard. He was important to all of us, but the Will Riker I know isn’t going to shy away from a challenge just because things have gotten a little hard.”

“Thank you.”

She reaches her hand up, her fingers brushing along his cheek and through the neatly trimmed hairs of his beard, “I’m here for you.”

He nods, his lips curling into a teasing smile as he comments, “You know. You were kind of starting to sound like him. Are you sure you aren’t channeling Picard? Maybe you should consider shaving your head, adopting an accent?”

Deanna’s response is simply to roll her eyes as she turns away and heads for the door, “Your crew is waiting for you, Captain Riker.”

The words ring a little hollow in his ears as the doors to the Ready Room slide open and she walks back out onto the bridge. He pushes himself from the desk preparing to follow, and as he walks to the door, he glances back at Livingston, who is still making circles in the tank.


End file.
